A Twist In Time
by Corky the Quirk
Summary: Sequel to Time Is Never Time At All! The tables have turned and now Camille and Alicia find themselves in 1899...
1. Blast to the Past

**Author's Note:** Whoa! It's the sequel...that I didn't think would ever begin, yet, I was home sick today and this is what came of it. So hopefully you enjoy the second installment to the story!

**Disclaimer:** I own Camille and Alicia

* * *

Time. It seems so stable, so secure. Everything we humans do is based around the system. Be on time, we're always told. Time stops for no one, we're constantly reminded.

But maybe it does.

* * *

The World was clutched in Camille's hands as she stared at the date in horror. 1899. No. It couldn't be. This was all just some hideous, horrible joke. In fact, going back to what she had thought earlier that week, maybe these boys weren't even really newsies. Maybe she was on a prolonged version of Punk'd. Yes, that definitely had to be it, she tried convincing herself, knowing though, that it was not true.

Ever dramatic Alicia fainted into Blink's lap, sending Davey into hysterics over his beloved. Honestly, the kid just didn't understand the creepy factor of his over-obsessive nature. Poor Blink was shoved away during Davey's distress. "Quick!" the boy yelled. "I need water!"

Camille rolled her eyes, knowing all Alicia really needed was a few light smacks on her pale cheeks and she'd be back to normal. Racetrack suggested taking the girls to a place called the Lodging House. Mush piped up about how some cowboy would know what to do. Now, what a _cowboy_ was doing in New York, Camille didn't know.

She got shakily to her feet, and, while Davey was attempting to hoist Alicia into his arms, made her way over to them. Camille shook the girl, slapping her face gently. "Dude!"

Alicia blinked a few times, her eyelids fluttering, then she looked around in confusion. "'Mille?" she addressed Camille with an old nickname they had used as toddlers, when Alicia hadn't been able to pronounce the "C" sound.

"Yup," Camille nodded. "It's me. Now stop being such a Drama Queen and follow the guys."

She nodded. "Yeah, okay," then, "We're really here, aren't we?"

"Pretty much," I affirmed.

"Wow," she stated, beginning to follow Race and Spot, who had already started for the Lodging House. Spot was apparently miffed at the fact that Camille had pushed him off of her when they had landed. For some reason, even though Spot was annoyed at her for something stupid, she couldn't help but smile. It was just such a Spottish thing to do.

Camille trailed behind the group, Snitch at her side. He seemed considerably more comfortable now, yet still not quite brave or outgoing. Mush and Blink were skipping ahead of them, grins upon their faces at finally coming home. A thought popped into Camille's head. Would she be that happy when she got home? She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of the question. Of course she'd act like that…right?

They had reached what appeared to be the Newsboy's Lodging House, at least that's what the sign above the door said, and Camille cautiously entered, Snitch prancing in behind her.

"You'se all late," scolded a boy wearing pink, then, noticing Alicia and Camille, he blushed.

"Shut ya trap Skittery," Race barked. "Dese goils are gonna be stayin' wit' us for a bit."

Alicia waved, a small smile crossing her face as she attempted to keep her cool. Camille just looked around the room in bewilderment. There were tons of newsies lounging around at various tables, playing card games, shooting marbles.

Snitch scratched his head. "Ain't ya wonderin' where we'se been dis last week?" he asked.

A young man with a red bandana wrapped around his neck looked at Snitch oddly. "You'se been sellin' papes…"

The group of time travelers exchanged glances. Had time stopped when the boys were in Wisconsin? And if so, had time now stopped in 2009? As Camille pondered this, the bandana boy stepped forward. "I'm Jack Kelly," he informed us, just as a tiny boy hardly older than ten ran up.

"We call him Cowboy," he piped up.

So this was the cowboy that supposedly would know what to do. He didn't look like much to Camille, sure, he was handsome, but he didn't seem as if he could possibly transport her and Alicia to 2009 if they wanted to go back. There was that thought again! Yes, they wanted to go back…she thought.

Racetrack slung an arm over Camille's shoulder. "Dis heah is Chip. She's got brains, Jack. And Alicia ovah by Davey, she's a hoot," he introduced us.

Camille cleared her throat, "Um, actually, my name's Camille."

Jack held his hand out and she shook it. "Whatevah ya say, Chip," he grinned down at her. He repeated the gesture with Alicia, who looked absolutely smitten with the guy. Poor Davey.

The little kid that had called Jack 'Cowboy' held out his hand as well. "I'm Les. Davey's my brother," he told Camille with a sort of pride.

"Cool…" she replied, taking his hand.

The pink wearer, Skittery, walked up next, standing before Camille. "The name's Skittery," he offered his hand, and when she placed her hand in his, he brought it to his mouth, kissing it. Camille couldn't help but blush.

Unexpectedly, she felt someone grab her opposite hand. "How's it rollin' Skitts?" the person asked, but the question was clearly in a warning tone.

Skittery glanced down at their intertwined fingers, perspiration visible on his forehead. He dropped Camille's hand as if it were a hot coal. "Oh, heya, Spot," he mumbled before slouching back to his seat.

As introductions were made, Spot protectively gripped her hand. "Ow," Camille complained once.

"Sorry," Spot grumbled, never loosening his hold.

It was sweet the way he tried to make sure the other boys knew she was with him, Camille thought, yet, kind of annoying. She could take care of herself, and Spot too, as Blink and she had previously proved.

Once Camille and Alicia had met everyone in a whirlwind of greetings, Jack and Race figured out the bunking situation. "Now, if Chip sleeps there instead of Snipes…and Alicia goes there…" they were murmuring when Spot interrupted.

"No," he said with authority. "Chip's comin' with me ta Brooklyn."

Camille looked at him skeptically. "If I'm going with you, then Alicia's coming too."

"No way," Davey argued. "Brooklyn's dangerous—" Spot glared at the blue-clad newsie.

Alicia looked torn. "If Davey says Brooklyn's bad, I don't know if I want to go there…" she trailed off, switching her gaze between Davey and her friend.

Camille turned to Spot. "If Alicia doesn't go, I'm staying here," she informed the hard-eyed leader.

"You're comin' with me," he said plainly, as if his word were law.

This ticked Camille off. What gave him the right to boss her around? She wasn't about to go gallivanting around New York without Alicia, no matter how much she liked the egotistical leader clutching her hand. "No. I'm not." She stated, a few quick intakes of breath circulating around the room. Apparently it was very rare for someone to talk back to Spot.

For a tenth of a second, sadness clouded Spot's burning eyes, then quickly changed to irritation. He release Camille's hand. "A'right. Stay in 'Hattan." He marched to the door, then turned around and smirked to the room. "See ya boys latah." He slammed the door behind himself. He was acting like a spoiled child Camille thought.

She glanced around the room. A few awe-struck eyes were still fixed on her, and as soon as she made eye contact, they were quickly diverted. Race and Jack went back to figuring out what should be done about the girls.

Camille ended up sleeping in a bunk that traditionally belonged to Snipeshooter, next to Racetrack's bunk. A boy named Bumlets was kicked out of his bed to make room for Alicia. She was snoring the moment she hit the pillow, but Camille laid awake for hours, contemplating the predicament they had found themselves in. What would happen to them? Would they, could they, get back eventually? And then that pesky little thought invaded and Camille realized that, maybe, she didn't _want_ to go back.

* * *

Camille was instructed by Jack to sell with Race at the track the next morning. "Er, I don't have any money," she admitted to the cowboy, who merely grinned.

"Race'll spot ya," he assured.

And true to Jack's prediction, Race purchased papers, not only for himself, but for Camille as well. Fifty for him, and a dozen for her. This way, he figured, Camille would be able to make twelve cents that day, buy twenty papers the next with a few pennies to spare, and be on her way to becoming a professional newsie. Jack simply called him cheap.

Davey bought Alicia her papers, but Jack sent her with Snipeshooter and another boy named Boots, who both gladly escorted her down the bustling street. She didn't seem concerned at all, which worried Camille. Alicia tended to forget the dangers of being in a different time, not to mention the dangerous task of being a newsie. She never did pay attention during history classes. Camille knew she needed to find out how to get home soon, Alicia wouldn't be able to survive happily for long. She needed her parent's wealth and her blow dryer.

Race and Camille stopped to watch some of the horses trot along before their race began. He explained how to pick a winner and Camille internally chuckled. She had been to numerous horse races in her life, and knew what to look for.

"Pick a horse," he allowed, and Camille pointed to number seven, a palamino thoroughbred. "Nice try, but numbah three's got this one." They walked to where the seats were located, yelling out improved versions of the day's headlines.

As the horses lined up, they both sat a little straighter, trailing off mid headline as the race began. Number three came charging from his chute, easily taking the lead, as number seven lagged behind.

Race chuckled. "See, I told ya that—" He stopped abruptly, choking on his words. Number seven, underdog of the lot, was rapidly passing his foes, galloping to the fore front. The golden-colored horse streaked past the finish line, one length ahead of number three, Race's choice.

Camille glanced over at the wide-eyed newsie. "You were saying?" she laughed before returning to her poor excuse at selling papers. Race continued to stand in stunned silence.

"How—how…" he sputtered. "How did ya do that?"

Camille chuckled at his surprised expression, then shrugged, "Dunno, I guess I'm just good with horses."

"Yeah," he sighed, scratching his head, replacing his cap afterward. "I guess ya are."

They spent the rest of the day at the races, Race helping Camille sell papers, she helping him pick horses in return. Racetrack was a rich man by the end of the afternoon. On their journey back to the Lodging House they discussed tactics for hot tips, and he shared a few secrets on how to improve paper sales. Racetrack was quite the teacher, and, needless to say, Camille felt well prepared for the next day, almost forgetting that she should have been finding a way to get out of the time period.

* * *

Old habits die hard. Spot was reminded of this as he lay, naked, his arm wrapped around some girl he hardly knew. She snuggled closer to him, and he couldn't help but wish it were Camille instead. Not because he only wanted to take her to bed, which he did want, because he was Spot Conlon and that's just the way he was. No, he wished it was her because she was clever and cunning and caring. She knew how to figure out what to do and did it. A little uptight at times, sure, but Spot always went for the feisty ones. She was the only girl who could come close to holding a candle to him.

Spot looked out at the harsh daylight. He had missed the morning edition out of laziness and, although he wouldn't admit it, a slight sorrow. Why had Camille slighted him? He wouldn't have tried anything too drastic right away on Camille; she was different than the girls Spot usually found himself with. He figured he could still catch the afternoon paper, and climbed out of the bed. The raven haired girl rolled, groaning. Spot was slipping into his clothes when she propped herself up on her elbows. "Spot," she cooed.

"What?" he spat in annoyance.

The young woman didn't take the hint. "Last night was really fun."

"I'm glad ya liked it," Spot smirked sarcastically, sauntering from the room without looking back at the girl who had stayed with him.

He sure had it bad for Camille if he couldn't even be his normal charming self to the girls he invited to his room. It was a new feeling for him, a feeling that made him want to vomit. And that's how he knew it was the beginning of love. Because love was a weakness. And weaknesses made him sick.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Well, I hope this story hasn't started out as a disappointment! Leave your reviews because they're greatly appreciated!! Thanks!


	2. Spark

**Author's Note:** Okay, second chapter :D Thanks for your reviews guys! You're awesome! I'm sorry it's been a while, but today, being my birthday (woo!) and not really having anything to do, decided to finally update, you lucky people. Also: SPOT WEEK!!!! April 1-8, so get ready! Details on my profile :D

**Disclaimor:** Newsies belong to Disney, any character not in Newsies is allllllll mine!

* * *

It was on the second day of selling that Camille noticed a familiar, stooped over woman with one wandering eye. "Race," Camille hissed, grabbing his elbow and pointing in the direction of the hag.

Racetrack cringed at the sight of her. "Blech," he muttered, then in remembrance, "Oh wait, ain't dat—"

"Yup," Camille nodded her head. She weaved through the crowd to get nearer to the lady. "Madame Schleffel!" she called when she was close enough that her voice wouldn't be drowned out in the masses.

Schleffel looked around in bewilderment, noticing Camille running up to her, Racetrack lagging behind. "Well, I've certainly never been called that before," she smiled warmly at them.

Camille and Race exchanged a bit of a worried look. "Madame Schleffel, it's me, Camille, and this is Racetrack Higgins," Camille told her.

Schleffel's eyes sparked. "Oh yes! You're the two that absolutely raked in the winnings yesterday, aren't you?" she exclaimed. "How _do_ you do it?"

Camille groaned, burying her face in her hands. Schleffel didn't know who they were. Race patted her on the back. "'S okay Chip," he soothed.

This time, Schleffel's eyes grew wide. "Chip, did you say?" she questioned.

"Yeah, 's what we'se like ta call 'er," Race explained.

Schleffel's face lit up. "They said you'd be coming."

Camille glanced up. "'They' who?"

"The powers that be," Schleffel answered hastily, eager to move on to what she was meant to tell the girl. "Now, where is the other one? You haven't sent her back yet, have you?"

Camille gave her an odd look, "Alicia? No, we ain't sent her back yet. Why would she go back without me?"

"Because that's how it has to be," Madame Schleffel proclaimed. "Only one of you will return back to the time from which you originated. That's the only way to fix this time predicament we've caused. You see, when you all were in 2009, every day you spent there, was only a minute there. Now, every day you spend _here_ is only a minute _there_. You need to balance time out, one must go back and one must stay. That is the way. The decision of who is up to you." An announcement overhead of the next race sent Schleffel into mild hysterics. "Oh dear! I must go bet on that hot tip I was given the other day!" She shuffled along the corridor, Camille's jaw hanging open after her. Then Schleffel turned around, flapping her arms. "And one more thing I was to tell you Chip: if you find yourself forgetting things, fear not." Then she was gone, lost in a line of people wishing to make bets on the day's races.

Race stood next to Camille awkwardly. They had already finished selling papers for the day, and were only watching the horses when Camille had seen Schleffel. Racetrack desperately wanted to stay, but deep down, in the non-sarcastic and caring part of him, he figured he had probably get Camille back to the lodging house where she could try and work this out in peace. He wrapped a protective arm around his shocked friend and led her out the door.

They walked in silence all the way, with Camille leaning her head against Race's sturdy shoulder. She didn't even know where to begin to think. Her mind was numb. Only one of the girls could go back? How was she supposed to choose? Why was she the one who _had_ to choose? And yet, she knew it had to be her that chose, because each of the girls would offer themselves to stay, and it would be a mess if Camille tried to involve others in the picking process.

As they neared the lodging house, they spotted a boy leaning against the wall next to the entrance. Racetrack raised his hand in greeting. "Heya Spark!" he shouted. The boy grinned handsomely, nodding his curly, dark-golden head in acknowledgment. "What brings ya ta 'Hattan?" Race asked cheerily.

"An invite from Spot ta a party we'se holdin' tonight," Spark replied smoothly. Race grinned widely. Whenever a party was held, it always meant money was to be won.

Spark shifted his gaze to Camille. "And who's ya lovely lady, Race?"

Racetrack removed his arm, chuckling, "Well, she ain't _my_ goil, but this is Chip, Chip, dis is Spark. He's Brooklyn's best runnah."

Spark took Camille's hand, and she found herself lost in his deep green eyes. "A pleasure," Spark murmured before gently placing his lips on the back of her hand. He did this with much more skill than Skittery had the other day. Then Spark did something Camille had never seen done before: he flipped her hand over and kissed her palm.

Camille caught her breath. Whoa. Spark released her hand, tipping his hat to both her and Race. "Spread da word. Hope ta see you'se both at the gatherin'." And with a wink he was gone.

* * *

Camille sat alone at one of Brooklyn's tables. Manhattan hadn't been the only borough invited, and she found herself stranded in a crowd of strangers. She absentmindedly shuffled the deck of cards Racetrack had presented her with the other day and stared pathetically across the room at Spot, who had a blond bimbo draped over him. Her card shuffling steadily became faster until she lost her hold on the cards and sent them flying in every direction. "God bless it!" she cried in frustration, gathering them up. As she reached down to pick some off the ground, a hand with a few cards came into view. Camille looked up into the green eyes of Spark. "Hi," she breathed out, standing from her bent position.

He raised his eyebrows and a lazy grin spread across his face. "Havin' a good time?" he asked rhetorically. He had been watching her, per Spot's instructions, and knew one hundred percent that Camille would give anything to get out of there.

They sat down at the table and Camille fumbled with the cards nervously. "I dunno," she thought. "I guess I was never really a party person."

Spark chuckled. "Ya friend ain't got a problem, I see," he nodded to where Alicia was dancing around with Mush and Blink; Davey had opted out for the night, too much excitement gave him hives.

Camille shook her head, laughing at the same time. "Alicia's fun. I'm not as care-free as she is," the girl confessed.

"And why is that?" Spark asked with genuine interest.

Camille found herself looking away from his intense gaze and back to where Spot was. "Oh, I don't know…" she trailed off.

Spark followed her eyes, noting where they were glaring at the blond girl practically on top of Spot. "Why don' ya give 'im a taste of his own medicine," Spark suggested, immediately wishing he could take back his words. He was supposed to be helping Spot, not Camille.

Camille's head snapped back to the newsie beside her. "Excuse me?"

Spark nodded in Spot's direction. "You'se've been starin' Spot down since ya got heah. The best way ta get ta 'im is ta not seem interested," he advised.

Camille thought that over. So many things could go wrong with a plan like that. She'd be doing exactly what Mush had accused her of doing when they were mucking out stalls back in Wisconsin. Using someone else to make Spot jealous. She'd feel horrid for leading someone on, unless she explained what she was trying to do, which would sound ridiculous. 'Um, yes, I'm in love with Spot Conlon, so could you help me win him over by stuffing your tongue down my throat?' That probably wouldn't work out so well. Unless…

She looked over at Spark who lounged elegantly in the chair next to her. He noticed her thoughtful glance and held his hands up with a chuckle, "Whoa no. I don' mess with Spot's goils."

"But I'm _not_ Spot's goil, er girl," Camille insisted, surprised at how she had fallen into his accent, she had noticed herself doing that lately.

Spark lifted one brow skeptically. "Ya ain't?"

"Obviously," Camille gestured at the tangled figures of Spot and another girl.

"Just 'cause Spot's wit' anothah goil right now don' mean you'se ain't his," Spark remarked.

Camille furrowed her brows in disgust. "Well if that's how it is, I don't think I wanna be his girl," she said, but it wasn't true, she wanted Spot to herself.

Spark shook his head, "I still ain't willin' ta—"

"So you're chicken," Camille interrupted, using the only argument she knew was fool proof when it came to the male species.

Spark blinked. "No. I just don' wanna go against Spot's will," he explained.

"I think that was laced with fear," Camille prodded.

"I ain't scared," Spark declared, crossing his arms childishly. He knew he was digging himself into a hole.

Camille smirked, "So you'll help me?"

Spark grinned, pointing a finger at the clever girl, "Ya good," he commented, surrendering.

Camille shrugged. "So how we gonna do this?"

"I said I'd help ya, not make ya a plan," Spark clarified.

"Okay, well, how 'bout we just leave," Camille said. "We could stroll down by the docks, Spot would never have to know it was so innocent."

Spark laughed out loud. "Ya think _that_ would anger Spot?"

"I don't _want_ to anger Spot," Camille retorted, offended a little at Spark's laughter.

"I'm jus' sayin', that ain't gonna work," he told her.

"Alright, fine," she said airily, standing from her seat and placing her hands on the arms of Spark's chair. "Maybe this will." And she leaned forward, kissing him long and hard. Pulling away, she mumbled breathlessly, "Well, I feel like a whore…"

Spark grinned, "No, ya ain't," he reassured her before pulling her onto his lap and bringing her face back to his.

* * *

"I told ya ta _watch_ her, not _seduce_ her!"

The next day Spark stood tall, hands clasped behind his back as if he were in the military. Spot was pacing in front of the window of his private room, watching his newsies scamper around on the streets below.

Spark gulped. "In all respects Spot, I didn' seduce her. Nothin' happened but a bit of smoochin'."

"A bit too much," Spat warned. "If ya try a stunt like that again, you'se'll be out on the streets, got it?"

Spark's jaw muscles strained. "Yeah, Spot, I get it."

"Good," Spot calmed down slightly. "I like ya Spark, I really do, but Chip's _my_ goil, and ya best not interfere."

"Maybe ya should start actin' like she's ya goil then," Spark shouted accidentally, the words slipping from his mouth, he seemed to be having a problem keeping his mouth shut.

Spot stood, glaring at Spark in the silence, a vein pulsing in his neck as his face steadily became more flushed. "Get outta heah and sell some lousy papes, Spark, befoah I decide ta soak ya myself," the leader hissed, pointing at the door.

Spark exited without a sound, leaving Spot to think upon what Spark had said. Sure, Spot wasn't exactly treating Camille with the highest regard, but it wasn't his fault, he wasn't used to having a girl that actually wanted more than attention in bed around. He didn't know how to act. Besides, she was the one who had turned him down when he wanted her to come to Brooklyn, he was only proving that he didn't need her, which he didn't…right? Spot shook his head, he was so confused. He wanted to be everything Camille needed, but he just couldn't.

Spark was right, Spot realized. Spark was always right. And maybe Camille was better off with a guy like that. But no, Camille was Spot's, _would_ be Spot's.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So the plot thickens...sort of, ha ha. I'm so jealous of my own character! First she kisses Mush, then Spot, and now Spark! Lucky lucky! Anywho, just a reminder: SPOT WEEK IS COMING!!! ahhhhhhh! it's held by myself and huffle-bibin, so PM us or look at our profiles for details. It's April 1-8, and I'm so excited!!


	3. Off to Brooklyn

**Author's Note:** Yay for the third chapter! Thanks for all your reviews! I 3 you all! I really do :D

**Disclaimer:** Alicia, Camille, and Spark are allllllllllllllllllll mine

* * *

Kid Blink sat in quiet contemplation on the sidewalk's edge. He was so confused. Mush, who was selling with him that day, didn't understand either. They thought that Camille and Spot were good for one another. So why at the party last night had they barely acknowledged each other? Of course, knowing Spot, he was probably already over Camille and moving on; in which case it was perfectly fine for Spark to pick up the girl on the rebound, for that's what he always did.

"Unless!" Mush sat up suddenly, a thought coming to him. "Unless they're tryin' ta make each othah jealous. She did that with me."

"Why would they _both_ try ta make the othah jealous?" Blink asked "That don't make no sense."

Mush's brilliant idea popped before his eyes. "Yeah, ya right."

Little did they know they had hit the nail on the head with Mush's guess. Spark walked past in a determined fashion at that moment, sending Blink and Mush to their feet as they hastily rushed to catch up with the Brooklyn newsie, hoping to maybe get a look into what was really going on. "Spark!" they called out, and he spun to face them with a grin.

"Hiya, bummahs," he joked, spit-shaking with each of them.

"What brings ya ta 'Hattan t'day? Can't possibly be anothah party," Blink mused.

Spark shook his head. "Nah, I gotta talk ta Chip. Ya know where she is?"

"Sheepshead, with Race," Mush pointed in the direction.

Spark tipped his hat, continuing on his way and leaving the boys with more questions than they had before.

* * *

Blink and Mush weren't the only ones worried about Spot and Camille's actions. Alicia was voicing her concerns too. Snipeshooter and Boots were sick of hearing the girl, who was oblivious to the fact that they had their hands clamped over their ears to drown her out. She had been going on and on _all_ morning. The two newsies couldn't believe so much could be said about one topic.

"I mean, Camille's had crushes and stuff before, ya know?" she looked at the younger boys as they nodded their heads, even though they hadn't been listening. This pacified Alicia who moved on with her speech. "I've just never seen her act this way before. She's never been the kind to rush into things, and then there she goes! Making out with that guy while Spot's just across the room!"

Neither Boots nor Snipeshooter felt the necessity to remind Alicia that Spot had also been with someone beside Camille that night, because that would start Alicia on her third Spot rant of the day. Alicia huffed. "I just can't believe…" and the newsies groaned as she began from the beginning. _Again._

* * *

Race's arm was comfortably placed around Camille's shoulders as they sat, watching the last race of the morning. "Don' be too put off," Race was saying, "That's how Spot is. Ya gotta move on. He's a ladies man when it comes down to it." Camille nodded her head, which was resting against Racetrack's shoulder.

She had hoped that Spot was above that; that she could be the one to change him. But who was she kidding? She had known the kid for a little over a week, she should have known better than to think he was as into her as she was into him. And why did she care so much? She was going back to 2009 eventually…maybe. Stupid boy.

Camille started in surprise as someone landed suddenly next to her and Race. Her heart pounded when she recognized the gold hair and cunning green eyes. "Spark," she whispered.

"How's it goin'?" he tipped his hat respectfully. Then he nodded to their position. "That's the second time I'se come across ya with ya arm around Chip, Race. Ya bettah watch out or Spot'll ban ya from seein' her, too," he warned, half-serious, half-joking.

Camille leaned towards Spark, her eyes narrowing, as Race slowly removed his arm, as if scared Spot would jump out and soak him right at the track. Which was ridiculous really, when Race thought of it, because Spot and him were quite good friends and he doubted that Spot would ever _really_ soak him. "What's that mean?" Camille asked of Spark's previous statement, anger bubbling inside her.

Spark grinned. "It means dis morning I received strict ordahs _not_ ta interfere with ya."

"What, like ya can't talk to me or something?" she practically yelled.

Spark looked off in thought, "Basically."

Camille's eyebrows knit. Race noticed her rage building. "Now Chip," he started, resting his hands on her quaking shoulders. "Don' do anythin' that'll come back 'n get ya…"

But Race's words fell on dear ears, and Camille stood abruptly from her seat. "We're going to Brooklyn," she growled, pulling Race to his feet. She turned to Spark. "Lead the way."

* * *

The atmosphere of Brooklyn was surprisingly different from when Camille had been at the party. Instead of being relaxed and easy-going, there seemed to be a tension in the air. She noticed Spark's slight change in how he carried himself. His jaw was now set, and he looked harsher. The Brooklyn newsies they passed on the way looked at Camille and Race like a predator looks at their prey. Race pulled at the collar of his shirt. Spot was one thing, the whole of Brooklyn was another.

"Are they always like this?" Camille whispered to Race. They were flanking Spark, who walked with more and more authority as they went deeper into Brooklyn.

Race nodded, "Except when partyin', then they'se just rowdy."

Camille glanced around the streets cautiously, wondering how it was that Spot ended up as leader. Some of the newsies they passed were massive, with muscles piled on them. But most were of Camille's stature, lean and fit, darting around quickly. She had an odd sense of being home, but quickly shook the feeling out of her mind. A few newsies shouted greetings to Spark, ignoring the Manhattaners completely, while others watched them pass with cold eyes. She was beginning to understand why David hadn't wanted them to go to Brooklyn, it was indeed starting to look dangerous.

Spark led them to the docks, the planks of wood groaning in complaint as they walked. There were newsies swimming and jumping into the water; there were newsies lounging around, talking about their day; there were some newsies playing a game of marbles. And even through all of that, each newsie still held a tough air about them.

The trio stopped at the base of a pile of crates, Spark looking up to the top one. Camille and Race followed his blank stare, seeing Spot perched there, shooting rocks into the spray of water. If he knew they were there, he gave no notice, and a small scowl was forming on Spark's face. Camille raised an eyebrow and took a step forward, but Race pulled her back hard. She glanced at him questioningly, and he merely shook his head. No one disturbed Spot.

They waited for another five minutes. It was clear that Spot had seen them, and even clearer that Spot was ignoring them. Camille crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently. "Stop that," Spark hissed.

The girl threw up her hands in annoyance. "This is ridiculous!" she shouted, then turned to face Spot. "Spot, we need to talk."

Spark buried his face in his hands, preparing for the worst. A marble whizzed purposefully past Camille's right ear, making Racetrack jump away from her. Camille rolled her eyes. "You're so childish," she chided, and another stone passed her left ear.

"Be quiet!" Spark insisted from beside her.

"No!" Camille protested, "He's being stupid." She brought her attention back to Spot. "If you don't come down, I swear to god I will climb up there and get you!"

Spot smirked at that, continuing to sling-shot random objects around the docks. That's exactly what Spot wanted. Man, this girl was easy to manipulate…sometimes. Sometimes she was so damn confusing that Spot had no idea what to do, and he felt like knots were tightening inside of him. But he had seemingly played his cards right this round, for Camille had begun climbing.

She stood one crate below him, hands on her hips. "You. Are. Stupid," she told him.

He smirked. "Am I?" he asked with a hint of amusement, then patted the space beside him for her to sit. Camille relented, and plopped down next to Spot.

She had to admit, it was quite a nice view. A girl could get used to looking at the world from that angle. She looked at Race, who was fidgeting with his hat, then over at Spark, who, although he was standing rigidly, had his mouth gaping open. "Lighten up, Race!" she yelled. He chuckled, embarrassed at his uncomfortable condition, and nodded at her, putting the hat back on his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. Spark's jaw snapped shut, apparently over his shock.

Spot spoke to Spark. "Bring him back ta 'Hattan," he ordered, then saluted Race, "See ya at the next party Race!"

Race winked, "Lookin' forward ta it," but he hesitated in following Spark, who had abruptly sauntered off, giving Camille a questioning look. She nodded, assuring him she'd be all right.

"So how am I supposed to get home, Conlon?" she asked quizzically once the two newsies had left.

Spot smirked again, taking aim at a bottle, "I'll escort ya myself," he informed her, shattering the glass with his perfect aim, then, glancing slyly at Camille, added, "If ya wanna go back, that is."

From where the Brooklyn newsies were relaxing on the docks it was quite a scene. The King of Brooklyn sat with his usual authority, and the mysterious girl next to him sat with just as much authority, it appeared. A moment of worry swept through them, but they soon calmed down. Spot wasn't a one woman kind of guy. Then again, he had never allowed anyone to sit on his make-shift thrown…

* * *

Snipeshooter, Boots, and Alicia were making their way to Tibby's when the Delancey brothers appeared from the alley. Their maniacal smiling giving Boots and Snipe the creeps. Alicia was, as usual, oblivious. She continued walking, even as the two newsies she was with slowed down, wanting to turn tail and run for their lives. Oscar and Morris had become bitter since being 'let go' of their jobs after the strike. But now they were a bit stunned at the blond newsgirl who had brushed past them without notice. Morris thought her to be very pretty, and he gulped nervously.

Boots and Snipeshooter exchanged a look and continued behind Alicia, who was now humming quietly. Oscar caught up and stepped deliberately in front of her. "'Scuse me miss," he sneered.

Alicia smiled brightly. "You're excused. Bye!" and continued in the direction she had been going, catching Oscar off guard. He kind of liked the girl, so, to get her attention, he tripped Boots, who was nearest him.

The newsie went down hard. "Ow!" Alicia turned to see him sprawled on the sidewalk.

She grinned down at him, "Oh, Boots, you're such a klutz. Did your shoe come untied like last time?"

Boots glared at Oscar as he got up, brushing him off. Snipeshooter piped up in his friend's defense. "No, Oscah did it." Snipe glared too, and Alicia turned to give Oscar the one over.

"You _what_?" she said, beginning to get angry, and Oscar realized that tripping the little newsboy probably wasn't the best way to catch Alicia's eye. She had come to think of Boots and Snipeshooter as her younger brothers. And _no one_ messed with Alicia's family or friends without paying. Subconsciously she pushed her sleeves up.

Now normally, Alicia was not a violent person. But all of her frustration from the past week or so had built up inside of her cheery body and was ready to escape. She marched right up to Oscar and slapped him across the face hard. "Don't you _ever_ touch him again!" And she smacked Oscar upside the head. Oscar was clueless as to what to do with the angry girl. He didn't want to hit her back, but he didn't want to get beat by her either. Alicia continued to slap the boy senseless until he got it into his head that the best way to escape was to do just that: escape. So he took off running, followed by Morris, who had turned into a wimp once he had seen Alicia's slap-fest with his brother. They bolted down the street, screeching at an unusually high pitch.

Alicia clapped her hands together, and decided she'd like a roast beef sandwich. Boots and Snipeshooter cheered the rest of the journey to Tibby's.

* * *

**Author's Note:** There you have it! Chapter three! I realize it's a little bit of a filler, but now it leads up to Camille and Spot's talk, and that's going to take longer to write, and I didn't want you guys to think I had carelessly left you hanging! We also get to see a little bit of what Alicia is doing, so that's good! :D Review!!

Also: APRIL 1-8th is Spot Week! ENTER!!...after reviewing of course :D


	4. Forgetting Conditioner

**Author's Note:** Hey guys! Sorry it's been awhile, but now the chappie is here! Thank goodness! Thank you for your reviews! Now enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Newsies *tear tear*

* * *

As Boots and Snipeshooter told of Alicia's heroic victory, embellishing quite a bit for dramatic effect, Alicia sat down next to David, who had been blue for the last few days, suffering from his deprivation of time with her. He gleefully scooted over in the booth, eager to have her join him for lunch. Mush and Blink, who sat across from him, made faces and dirty gestures in his direction, causing David's face to glow a bright mauve.

Alicia, who had her elbows propped on the table, grabbed a loose lock of hair, examining the split ends in disgust. "Ugh," she moaned, "I seriously need a deep conditioning."

Davey, Mush, and Blink looked at her in confusion. Alicia glanced at their faces. She bugged her eyes and held up her hands. "Ya know, for my hair!"

"Er," David gulped, "I'm not sure what 'deep conditioning' means, but I don't think we have that…here…" And by 'here', David meant 'in 1899', but with the other newsies around, there was no way he could say that without sounding insane.

Alicia paused in thought. "Well would they have some conditioner in Brooklyn?" she wondered, clearly missing David's point, allowing for much amusement for Blink and Mush as they chuckled. Alicia glared at the laughing newsies until they ceased, clearly afraid that Alicia might make good on her threat of coming after them with a blow dryer from when they had first met.

David shook his head. "Probably not," he answered her question.

Alicia pouted until the bell above Tibby's door tinged, announcing the arrival of Spark and Racetrack. "Oh good!" she shouted. "Spark! Do you have conditioner in Brooklyn?"

Spark looked startled at the random question, "Um, I don't really know what that is…" he admitted.

Alicia placed her hand on her hips. "You don't know what _conditioner_ is?"

Spark looked around for some help. Racetrack shrugged his shoulders. No one in the vicinity seemed to understand. "You're all useless!" Alicia exclaimed, a tad irritated that her usually perfect hair was being abused.

Racetrack and Spark grabbed seats at one table that a few newsies occupied, placing their order with the waiter. Snitch glanced around. "Hey, Race, where's Chip?" he asked curiously.

This sent the restaurant's occupants to looking around, searching for Camille's face. This time Racetrack turned to Spark for help. The Brooklynite took the lead. "She's in Brooklyn, she an' Spot had somethin' ta work out," he explained, slightly scowling.

There was silence while this fact registered in everyone's minds, then an explosion of noise and activity as the newsies rushed to Spark and Racetrack, yelling objections.

"You left her in Brooklyn?!"

"Alone?!"

"With Spot?! Of all people?!"

Spark held up his hands, trying to quiet the frantic Manhattaners down, growing more claustrophobic with each second. "Hey! Hey! Yeah, she's with Spot, so nothin' bad's gonna happen!" he assured the small crowd, attempting to convince himself as well. "Spot ain't gonna try anythin' stupid, so stop worryin'!" Spark wanted to add 'because Spot knows I'll leave Brooklyn if he does anything to Camille', but he restrained himself from disclosing his fondness of the girl.

Spark's logic took hold and the group settled themselves down a bit. Alicia was a little tense, as was David, who knew about the many things that could go wrong in Brooklyn, and Mush, who was just a sensitive guy. "Alright," David spoke, "But if she's not home, I mean…back in Manhattan, by tomorrow—at the latest!—then we're going to look for her."

"Agreed!" Mush and Blink chimed in.

"Stop being such a dad Davey!" Racetrack scolded, thwaping his fellow newsie upside the head. "Chip's fine. She can hold her own. Told Spot off mighty fine t'day." Racetrack beamed at the memory of Camille and Spot's confrontation.

Jack nearly choked on his food. "She did what?" he gaped, stunned at the thought of someone talking back to the King of Brooklyn.

Spark grinned. "Her exact words were—" and here he imitated Camille's western accent "—'You are stupid'."

A round of laughter rippled through the newsies, although it was tinted with nervousness. How did Spot react to _that_?

"And ya know what Spot did?" Racetrack guffawed once he had caught his breath. "He let her _sit_ on his _crate_. Can ya believe that?"

Most of the nervous tension in the room dissolved, but a new feeling entered. It was hard to describe. There was awe at the fact that Camille had even been able to make it halfway up the stack of crates without Spot biting her head off. He was awfully protective of those damn crates. There was a bit of confusion concerning _why_ Spot had allowed Camille a place next to him. And there was also a tiny giddy feeling emanating from those that had been part of the time travel. Camille and Spot…together maybe? Even if it wasn't like _that_, at least the two were civil with each other again. Or as civil as either of them ever acted.

Everyone at Tibby's wished they were on the Brooklyn docks, listening in on Spot and Camille's conversation. Little did they know that the newsies currently occupying the Brooklyn docks were wishing the very same thing.

* * *

"They're all staring at me," Camille grumbled under her breath, noticing how the newsies would occasionally drag their eyes up the mountain of crates, inspecting the newcomer.

"Actually, they'se prob'ly lookin' at me," Spot smirked, his ego at large.

Camille rolled her eyes and looked at him pointedly. "Right," she replied with doubt. "Why would they look at something that's _always_ been here?"

Spot shrugged. "Because it's me. And, well, it's _me_." That was apparently the only reason Spot felt was needed.

Camille raised her eyebrows. "You are very full of yourself Mr. Conlon."

"Would _you_ like ta be full a me, Chip?" Spot asked mischievously.

"You would think someone with the responsibility of controlling a town of newsboys wouldn't be so inclined to be so lewd," she mused.

Spot sat smirking, and Camille jabbed at his silence. "Did you not understand my big words?"

Spot simply kept smirking. "I undahstood poifectly."

"Then why are you just sitting there with that ridiculous facial expression?"

"'Cause ya didn' say no."

"Well I sure as shit didn't say _yes_!" Camille shouted, sliding away from Spot, which was hard to do considering the size of the crate that the two were sitting on.

Spot inched closer. "But ya didn' say _no_."

Camille's cheeks burned. "No! No, no, no! There!"

Spot continued to grin. "Delayed," he said.

"Stupid," Camille grumbled.

He laughed. "An' ya thought _my_ vocabulary needed help. About the only thing ya say is 'stupid'."

"It's the only word to describe you," Camille replied, crossing her arms and looking away from him determinedly.

Spot chuckled and she continued talking. "Look, Spot, the reason I came to talk to you is because you are _being_ stupid and telling Spark that he can't talk to me or anything."

"Is that what he said I said?" Spot inquired.

Camille looked down, thinking back to what Spark had told her at the track. "Well, not exactly, it's more what I said and he affirmed it…"

"So you'se admittin' that ya don' know for sure if that's really what I said?"

"Spot, look, it doesn't matter if ya said it or not, I'm going to hang out with Spark and talk to him and stuff and you're just going to have to deal, okay?" Camille declared impatiently.

Spot cocked his head. "Deal?"

It took Camille a moment to realize that Spot didn't understand her modern day slang. "Oh, um, you'll just have to put up with it," she clarified.

Spot nodded his head in contemplation. "I see." They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes before Spot began to speak again. "Look, Chip, I kinda like ya…" he stated, a little harshly, not quite used to telling people his emotions.

"Oh," Camille breathed out, then quickly added, "Don't call me that."

Spot smirked at how Camille had become shy in such a short amount of time. He leaned over and pressed his lips to hers, making her jump. She hadn't expected that. She instinctively kissed him back, after all, Spot wasn't the only one with feelings for someone on the dock. The newsboy was about to deepen the kiss when Camille pulled away, staring in shock at Spot. Spot chuckled at her cute expression and leaned forward, trying to kiss her again. Camille leaned back at the same angle that Spot was leaning towards her.

She gulped. "Look, Spot, this is sort of serious. I mean, I can't stay in Brooklyn because, well, I can't say _here_, in this time. Alicia and I have to go back." She didn't feel the need to tell him that only _one_ of them was going back, since she was still shaky as to who she was going to choose.

There was a glint of loss in Spot's eye, then he was back to his suggestive self. "So let's make the most a the time we got." He grabbed her wrist and managed to pull her closer to him.

"No," she shoved away. "Don't ya get it? I don't want to get attached to anyone! Alicia needs to go back—"

"So send _her_ back!" Spot shouted.

Camille opened and closed her mouth a few times, very much resembling a fish. Spot was right. She had to send Alicia back. She knew it. Alicia belonged in 2009. And Camille felt…she felt _right_ being in 1899, despite her withdrawals from her iPod, she knew she could cope. Not that she would admit it to Spot, because she was stubborn like that. "I'm going to. As soon as I know how."

Spot looked off at the waves, absentmindedly taking out his sling-shot and shooting randomly. "Doesn't mean _you_ have ta go," he whispered.

"What?" Camille asked in disbelief. Sure, he had said he liked her, but this was Spot Conlon, fearless leader of the Brooklyn newsies, attractive and powerful, able to get any girl he wanted, and all he cared about at the moment was Camille going away. It floored the girl.

Spot didn't reply, his shooting swiftly growing faster.

Camille's eyes softened at Spot's change of heart. He really was sweet. "Look Spot," she started once again. "It's not that I don't like you, it's just…right now…I can't handle that…I really just need someone there…for support…and as a friend…but nothin' _more_…"

Spot laughed. "Ain't that what Blink or Mush are for?"

Camille grimaced. "Spot, I need you too, you know that don't you? I know we're not exactly best friends…but…"

"Would ya stop babblin'?" Spot asked huffily, but with a smirk. "Now c'mon, we don' want Davey dyin' of worry that I'se got ya all ta meself now do we?"

Camille shook her head with a smile, glad he was back to normal. "That would be awful."

"Me point exactly," Spot concluded, bounding down to the docks and heading for 'Hattan, ignoring the questioning and confused looks he received from his newsboys, Camille following on Spot's heels.

* * *

"Davey, sit down," Alicia patted the seat beside her.

The other newsies chuckled at David's obvious distress. David had nothing against Spot; he just got terribly nervous about the whole of Brooklyn. When David was anxious, he paced. Rapidly.

"You'se gonna end up makin' a hole in the floor, Davey," Racetrack cackled as David proceeded to walk in a tight circle even faster.

Jack slung an arm around David's shoulders, attempting to lead him to the vacant place by Alicia. When David resisted, Spark barked, "Siddown!"

This startled David so much that he practically fell, in an obedient way, into the booth. Spark and Racetrack exchanged smug grins and sipped their coffee, until the bell above the doorway tinged again, causing David to jump up and out of his seat once again.

Entering the quaint café was Spot and Camille, looking as if they were enjoying each others company, which was bound to be a relatively good sign, except to Spark. Alicia jumped from her seat to greet her friend. "Yay! You're back! Now you can explain to these goons what conditioner is!" she insisted. "I've just had the hardest time trying to get them to get me some, considering they're all too uncaring of their hair to know what conditioner is. I mean, can you believe it? It's, like, the basic lifeblood of hair! Don't the boys at our school know what conditioner is? I swear they do…I think most of them use it too!"

"Whoa! Girl, slow down," Camille held up her hand, effectively shutting her rambling friend up. Alicia smiled widely. "Now, what is it they don't get?"

"Hair conditioner!!! Explain what it is before I go crazy!" Alicia snapped, grabbing Camille by the arms, not bothering to ask how Brooklyn had gone, and dragging her to the center of Tibby's, shoving her so that she was actually standing on top of a table, much to Camille's protests. Alicia clapped her hands for attention. "All right everyone!" she yelled. "Listen up! Camille is about to say something about the miracle of hair products." She glanced down at Dutchy, who was seated near her and remarked, "It looks like you could use a bit of the miracle…"

Dutchy looked down at the ground sadly, hurt from Alicia's comment on his hair, which he didn't think was that bad. Looking down was a big mistake; Alicia smacked his head. "I said 'LISTEN UP'! So look 'UP' and 'LISTEN'! UP LISTEN!" She was getting a little over excited.

Camille giggled, looking at the newsies that were now surrounding her, awaiting an explanation for Alicia's frantic love of 'conditioner'. "Well," Camille began to enlighten, "Conditioner is…well…it's…" Camille scrunched up her face, deep in thought, "It's…it's…well, I…I can't really…" She glanced up in confusion, feeling utterly lost. "I don't know." Why couldn't she remember what conditioner was? She was sure she _used_ to know what it was, was sure she had _used_ it even, whatever the heck it was used for that is. She gulped. "I can't remember what it is…" She jumped from the table, walking, trancelike towards the door. Spot stopped her by holding onto her arms. She looked up into his murky eyes, and saw what she thought must have been concern. However, she doubted herself, now that she couldn't even remember what conditioner was. What was it?!

Alicia's mouth was hanging open. "What do you mean you don't know?!" she screamed, marching over to Camille to give her a piece of her mind. "If this is a joke to make me seem like I'm on crack—" the newsies exchanged more confused glances "—then I am going to be so—" She saw the frightened gleam in Camille's eyes and realized Camille hadn't been joking around for her own amusement and dropped the subject, resorting to grasping Camille in a hug.

Spot jumped back in horror. He didn't do hugs.

Racetrack scratched his head, stepping forward. "Didn' that old hag at the track say something about you not worryin' bout ya mem'ry?" he offered, in an effort to make Camille more comfortable. Instead he received a menacing glare.

Alicia pulled away from her friend. "Hag at the track?" she asked.

"Er, well, see, we was sellin' at the track, and well, Madame Schleffel showed up…"

Tears pricked at Alicia's eyes. "And you didn't tell me?"

"Or me!" Spot, David, and Blink piped up at the same time; Mush had been too busy daydreaming about matching laces for his boots, and added "Or me" too late, getting odd looks in return.

Camille gulped, "It was no big deal…"

"It must have been if she told you you'd soon get a case of Alzheimer's!" Alicia screeched.

Camille flinched away at the high pitched sound, holding up a finger. "Actually," she corrected, "I'd be developing amnesia…"

"Don't correct me!" Alicia shouted, clearly pissed off at Camille's negligence in relaying Madame Schleffel's message to her.

Racetrack once again came forward, "Really, the old crone didn't say much, she didn' really 'member us."

"Oh," Alicia said. "Oh…well, nevermind then!" And she was back to hugs and smiles, forgetting her irritation.

David and Blink decided to drop the subject as well, and Mush had gone back to admiring his mismatched laces. He secretly liked them. But Spot logged this away in the recesses of his mind, determined to bring it up sometime when he got Camille alone. He knew it held more meaning than Camille and Race were letting on, and he _would_ find out.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Well, that was longer than usual I think, and hopefully not terrible ha ha! Leave a review people!! Thank ya!!


	5. Nighttime Natter

**Author's Note:** Oh man I feel horrible for taking so long! You can blame those things called exams that I've been (and still should be) studying for. Once again, I'm so sorry!! Thank you for your reviews guys! Yayness!

**Disclaimer:** Camille, Alicia, Spark = Not Disney's; the other characters = Disney's

* * *

It was that evening on the roof that Spark confronted Camille. She was lying stretched out on the shingles, arms folded comfortably under her head as she gazed at the stars. A small smile played on her lips as she thought of Spot's confession. He liked her. The thought made her giddy; it sent butterflies to flying inside of her. She licked her lips thoughtfully, daydreaming of the possibilities that were spread out in front of her.

She knew that she, not Alicia, was the one that was going to be left behind. It was a sobering thought, and yet it was also an exciting one. She was going to get to live out the rest of her days in New York, preferably lounging on a throne of crates with a particular Brooklynite next to her.

The sound of a shoe scuffing brought her back to reality and she snapped up into a sitting position to see a different Brooklynite than the one she had been thinking of. She smiled softly at Spark, who grinned, making his way cautiously towards the relaxed girl. "So…you and Spot seem alright again," he muttered with a heavy sigh.

Camille, oblivious to Spark's tone, pulled her legs up, wrapping her arms around them and looking dreamily over the Manhattan rooftops. "Yes," she replied with a far-off smile.

"Well good luck with that," Spark grumbled at the sky.

Camille's eyebrows knit together, this time hearing the nature of his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Spark scowled. "Ya really don' know him, do ya?" he asked, a little bitter.

Camille's face fell and she lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. No, she didn't really know Spot that well, but she couldn't help the feelings she had for him either. And she wouldn't like a truly bad guy…would she? "Whaddaya mean?"

Spark propped his elbows on his wide-spread knees and shrugged. "He just ain't really a one goil kinda guy," he explained in a hushed tone, glancing at Camille's face, as if afraid of the girl's reaction.

Camille swallowed, a reflective look coming over her as she took a deep breath, finally meeting Spark's eyes. "Go on," she half-ordered.

Spark blinked, staring fixedly at his fidgeting fingers, deciding to occupy his hands by playing with his worn out shoelaces. "He just…has a way with the ladies…"

Camille glared at the shingles next to her. She hadn't noticed Spot being overly flirtatious or suggestive with anybody but her. Granted, she was usually the only girl around, and at other times Spot had thought he was her son. She bit her lip. Turning her head in the opposite direction of Spark, who reached his hand out to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly.

"Chip, I just…I don' wanna see ya get hurt. Spot's a good guy most a the time…but…he has his habits…" Spark trailed off and a foot fall introduced another rooftop visitor.

Spot's gray eyes darted from Spark's green ones to Spark's hand, which was still resting on Camille's tense shoulder. The look in Spot's gleaming orbs made it clear that Spark had better scram back to Brooklyn for the night; so Spark gave a gentle pat to Camille's back, mumbled a good-bye, and disappeared down the fire escape.

Spot sauntered over to Camille, who was looking in the opposite direction, and plopped down. He reached out and pulled her face to look at him in a surprisingly caring way. It was dark and he wasn't paying attention to the way her eyes were moist and how her mouth was set defiantly. Instead, he started the conversation right away, cutting to the point. "I know that Schleffel lady told ya more than ya let on at Tibby's t'day," he dove in. "An' I wanna know what she said that made ya so frazzled."

To Camille, in her current state of hurt and suspicion, Spot's question sounded annoying and hideously nosy. It was no business of his what Madame Schleffel had decided to disclose to her. She knew she couldn't just ignore him, and opted for the easy way: restating what had already sort of been said at Tibby's. "She told me that I'd begin forgetting things," then Camille added, "if I stayed here too long." So she embellished a little to try to get Spot off her case; she didn't think that was such a crime.

Spot cocked his head to the side. "There's more than that," he knew.

"Good god Spot! Ya want me to retell my life story to ya?" Camille spat, somehow slipping into the newsies' accent for a time.

"No," Spot yelled in defense. "I just wanna know what the old broad did ta make ya more noivous!"

"I am _not_ nervous!"

"Well maybe ya should be a little noivous," Spot insisted. "You'se ovah a hundred years from where you'se belong and ya ain't exactly been tryin' ta get back!"

Camille clenched her teeth in fury, "How do _you_ know I havent' been trying to get back? Maybe I have been!"

"What did she say?" Spot sought out.

Camille glared at Spot. "Why does it matter?"

Spot glared right back. "'Cause it seems like you'se don' want no one ta know, which means it was somethin' important."

Camille set her jaw and pointed looked away from Spot's calculating eyes. "Didn' she tell ya how ta get back?"

"No," Camille replied curtly.

"Then why ain't ya tryin' ta get back?!"

"Cuz I ain't _goin'_ back!" she accidentally grit out.

Spot, for once, was at a loss for words. He was shocked and joyful and confused all at the same time. How could he possibly be so fortunate? Besides him barely able to buy food and clothing, he got to be the King of Brooklyn and he was staring at, what he could imagines as, the Queen. He knew how corny and idiotic he sounded, but he didn't care. And he didn't care that he didn't care. And it was at that moment that he knew Camille, somehow, someway, meant more to him than all of the other girls combined. "That's…that's…" he stammered.

"Horrible," Camille finished for him, rising from her sitting position and preparing to march precariously across the roof and away from Spot, who looked like he had been slapped by the word Camille had chosen.

Spot swiftly grabbed Camille's wrist. "Whoa!" he startled her with his volume. He clamored clumsily, for him at least, to his feet. "Whaddaya mean horrible? Sure, ya can't have all that fancy schmancy stuff of the future, but you'se can stay heah now, or Brooklyn—"

"So you can treat me like all the other girls?" Camille snarled, yanking her wrist free form Spot's now limp grip.

That's when it hit him. That's when he figured out why she was being cold rather than her usual sarcastic way. Spark. "What'd he tell ya?" Spot growled.

"Enough!" Camille shouted, not even bothering to look back.

Spot rushed angrily behind her. "I don' think so!" He grabbed for her wrist once again but she shoved him away. This didn't stop the Brooklyn leader at all, who wrapped his arm firmly around her waist, bringing her flush against him. "What did Spark say?" Spot whispered.

Camille breathed deeply. "Let. Me. Go," she hissed in his face.

Spot raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Now why would I do that when I got ya right where I want ya?" he glanced down at their proximity.

"You are disgusting," Camille replied, ripping Spot's arm off of her and entering the Manhattan Lodging House.

Spot stayed in the same place, staring where she had disappeared. So he hadn't really thought that last move over well. So he had fallen back to his lewd self. So she hated him—for the moment. So he could change that.

This made Spot smirk, and he started down the fire escape.

* * *

"I hate boys," Camille sighed as she fell onto the bunk that she and Alicia were sharing for the time being. A number of newsies glanced over at her and she rudely stuck her tongue out at them. Alicia laughed.

"You're acting like me now!" she exclaimed, happily clapping her hands. "Yay for drama queens!"

"I hate you," Camille grinned at her peppy friend.

Alicia rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you do, that's why you've stuck around with me for twelve years."

"Eleven and a half."

"Oh because you've been counting the days?" Alicia glanced at her glum friend, making a face that caused both of them to collapse into laughter.

"I just…he just…so frustrating…arrrgh!" Camille attempted to put her feelings into words.

"You two are worse than Chuck and Blair on Gossip Girl," Alicia declared knowingly.

Camille raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"Chuck is this bad boy who has the hots for Blair, and Blair keeps denying her feelings for him, but everyone knows they are totally meant for each other," Alicia explained as if it were the most obvious thing ever.

Camille shifted her eyes from one side to the next. "Oh…"

"Gossip Girl can explain anything," Alicia said reverently.

"Right…"

* * *

Walking to Brooklyn alone at night sent goose bumps up most people's spines. Spot Conlon was not most people. And he certainly was not going to take anymore of Spark's crap. Which, Spot thought, was a shame, because he had always liked Spark and enjoyed his company. But now Camille was priority number one, and Spark was not going to get in his way.

Spot slammed open the front door of the Brooklyn Lodging House, startling a large number of boys playing marbles. The poker players lazily glanced up from their cards, tipped their heads in greeting, and went back to their game.

Spark was seated on the stairs, looking like a puppy that knew it shouldn't have peed on it's master's new white rug. His eyes were lowered and he was shaking a little bit. Spot honed in on him like a hawk. "Spark!" he called from the doorway.

The inferior newsie stood slowly, all eyes on him and the leader. "Yeah?" Spark barely spoke, thinking that maybe, just maybe, Spot was going to spare him, give him another chance.

"I have a message for ya ta delivah ta the Bronx," Spot informed him, then he smirked, a cold glint in his eye. Spark gulped. Judging by the look on Spot's face, he wasn't going to be saved, he was going to be made into an example. "And when ya delivah it," Spot continued, "Feel free ta stay in the Bronx for as long as you'se wants."

Spark nodded, understanding what Spot meant by that. The other newsies either openly stared or respectfully diverted their eyes. Spark had always been counted on and never did anything wrong. Everyone loved Spark. And then he just had to get tangled between Spot and the girl Spot wanted, which was the biggest mistake _anyone_ could ever make. They sympathized with Spark, but they would inevitably go along with Spot. Everyone would. They watched in a reverent silence as Spark trod to the door. The boy paused in front of Spot. "What's the message?" he asked solemnly.

"That I'm donatin' a runnah ta their cause," Spot informed his previous messenger.

So that was the parting shot, thought Spark, Brooklyn's best—former best—runner, as he slid through the door silently and onto Brooklyn's deserted streets.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm not so sure what I think of this chapter; anywho! I do not own Gossip Girl, I do not think it can "solve all of life's problems" as Alicia thinks, and I also was not making fun of it! Just wanted to make that clear. :D Now review and tell me how to make this story better!! ha ha, Thanks!


	6. A Plan Set In Motion

**Author's Note:** I appologize for the lack of updates! I haven't been updating any of my stories really, and I feel horrible about it! Now, just to let you all know, sometime in the future I plan on rewriting this story, because I'm unhappy with the way some things turned out, but the overall plot will remain the same. I just think that this story could have been so much more had I enough time to really concentrate on it. I certainly know it does not live up to _Time Is Never Time At All_. Anywho, here's the next chapter.

**Disclaimer:** Anything Disney related does not belong to me; neither does the yellow brick road.

* * *

With Spark out of the picture, Spot felt much more at ease; that is, until Camille came storming into the Brooklyn Lodging House, face red. She had apparently heard word of it.

"I can't believe you!" Camille exploded, gesturing wildly with her hands and pacing back and forth in the entrance of the lodging house. "I honestly can't believe you!"

Spot was lounging on one of the lower stairs on the stairwell. His elbows were resting on his knees and his arms were spread out in front of him, hands clasped. His lips were pursed and he was watching Camille warily with steel eyes.

Racetrack, who was standing behind Camille in the doorway, was uncertain as to what he should be doing. He hadn't exactly volunteered to go on this little trip to Brooklyn. Rather, as soon as Camille had overheard him informing Jack of Spark's dismissal, she had bolted out the door in the direction of what she had hoped was Brooklyn. Race was sent to make sure she didn't wander anywhere more dangerous. Now, he was stuck standing awkwardly, waiting for something. He wasn't sure what that something was, but he was sure he'd know it when it happened.

* * *

"La la la la!" Alicia was skipping down the street, arms linked with Mush on one side and Blink on the other. They both exchanged glances over her head, each sick of skipping and singing, but Alicia's cheeriness was unstoppable, and she seemed to have an over abundance of energy. The newsboys had begun to tire after about an hour. "Isn't this fun?!" Alicia screeched, grinning widely. "The sun is shining and we're dancing through the park!" She broke away from the boys and twirled in place.

As she spun round and round, now moving forwards slightly, Mush and Blink walked, exhausted, behind her. "I don' know how she does it," Mush panted.

Blink rubbed one eye. "I don' know either."

"It's because she's like the freakin' Energizer Bunny."

Blink and Mush turned to see a semi-furious Camille and a flushed Racetrack making their way towards the trio. Mush blinked. "The what?"

"Never mind," Camille waved away his question, striding right up to Alicia and grabbing her arm. She came to a sudden halt, teetering a little in dizziness.

"Oh, hey! What's up your butt?" Alicia asked, still smiling. "I bet skipping would help you unwind." She glanced at Mush and Blink, then gestured to Camille. "Boys?"

"I don't want to skip," Camille replied flatly as Mush and Blink sighed in relief. Any more skipping and they were one-hundred percent sure their legs would fall off.

"But you love to skip," Alicia mumbled dejectedly.

Camille rolled her eyes. "It used to be enjoyable. Ya know, when we were, oh, I don' know, in the correct time period!"

Alicia snorted. "Chill. Maybe skipping is the way to get back! Like down a yellow brick road! Yeah! Hey! Guys! Where's the nearest yellow brick road?"

The three newsies looked at each other skeptically, and that's when Blink and Mush realized Racetrack's face was still red; their expressions clearly telling him to explain. Race threw his hands up. "That goil's insane!"

Camille crossed her arms. "Am not."

Race directed his finger in Camille's direction. "She got Spot ta throw a party t'night! Dunno how; dunno why; but she did it!"

Alicia jumped around, clapping rapidly. "Yes! I love parties! What's the theme?"

"Don' interrupt!" Race screamed, he was growing more frantic as the retelling went on, and Alicia's interjection had not helped. "And then, _then_, she slaps 'im hard across the face and says, nice as evah, 'See ya t'night Spot'! And she walks out the door!"

"Ya _slapped_ Spot?!" Mush and Blink exclaimed in unison.

Camille looked away, grumbling, "He's an asshole."

"You do tend to fall for jerks," Alicia mused, rubbing her chin in thought.

"Thanks for the reminder," Camille snapped.

* * *

Alicia and Snitch were selling the afternoon edition, for Mush and Blink were able to pawn her off on the nervous, passive newsie, when a crochety old woman bumped into them, her weight sending the two tumbling onto the cobblestones.

"Oh! Terribly sorry!" the old woman shouted, as if they were deaf. "My sights been goin' lately, my dears."

"Madame Schleffel!" Alicia yelled in surprise, eyes wide. Snitch squeaked in fright; all he could think of was how Schleffel had stalked them in Manhattan that dark night the newsies were sent ahead in time.

Schleffel blinked a few times through milky eyes. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" she asked, still trying to get her ancient eyes to focus on them.

"Yeah, I'm Alicia and this is Snitch—"

"Bless you," Schleffel interrupted.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You sneezed dear."

"I did?" Alicia looked confused and Snitch merely shrugged his shoulders. "Anyway," Alicia continued. "This is Snitch—"

"Salud!"

"What?" Alicia asked, cocking her head.

"That's 'bless you' in Spanish," Schleffel explained randomly.

"No!" Alicia was beginning to get frustrated with Madame Schleffel's poor hearing. "Snitch—"

"Gesundheit!"

"—is his name!"

Schleffel blinked a few times. "Oh. Oh I see."

"What language was that?" Snitch inquired from behind Alicia.

"German," Schleffel replied happily.

Alicia sighed, "We're—"

"Chip's friends!" Schleffel's face lit up, as if she had just won a million dollars. "Of course, I remember you. Now why are you still here? Hasn't Chip sent you back yet?"

"Camille's not a big fan of being called 'Chip'," Snitch pointed out, using a saying he had learned from Alicia that morning when she had declared she wasn't a 'big fan' of sharing bathrooms before booting every newsie out.

"Hmm, well, that's a shame," Schleffel thought out loud. "But you've really got to get back to your time period to balance things out."

Alicia bit her lip. "I dunno if Camille's ready to go…she's got a few things to work out."

Madame Schleffel cocked her head in confusion. "What do you mean? Chip isn't going back."

Alicia had been helping Snitch to his feet, but once Schleffel said Camille wouldn't be returning she let go of Snitch's hands, resulting in the boy falling back quite hard on his rump, and faced Schleffel.

"What?" Alicia hissed, eyes narrowing.

Schleffel waved her hand. "It's the only way."

Alicia spun around, jerking Snitch up off the ground and dragging him in the direction of the Lodging House. "Let's _go_ Snitch."

"May your dreams come true!" Schleffel called after the two as they hurried through the noontime crowds, halting them just long enough to give her an odd look. "That's what they say in France for a sneeze!"

* * *

"I didn't think it was important," Camille lied, cringing away from Alicia's rage.

"Oh really? You didn't think it was important to mention to me that I'd be traveling back home by myself?" Alicia spat in the direction of what she decided was her ex-best friend.

"Please, Alicia, try to understand—"

"Oh, I understand! You wanted to be in charge, like always!"

"No!" Camille quickly stood from her chair. "No, I just didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd react like this!"

Alicia's face was burning. "Of course I'd react like this! I don't want to leave you behind…" she added quietly, staring at Camille with tear rimmed eyes.

Camille sighed, biting her lip. "Thanks," she finally whispered. "But I'll be fine."

Alicia nodded. "But what about me?"

Camille sniffed. "You'll probably forget all about me." She smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Alicia pursed her lips, attempting a look of relief. "I'd never forget you."

Camille smiled crookedly. "Same to you."

"And neither will we."

The girls' heads snapped up to the doorway to see who had said those words. Blink, Mush, Racetrack, Snitch, and David were standing there, each with a different expression on their face. Blink was crying, insisting he had something in his eye, and Mush's lower lip was quivering. Racetrack was half-smiling, knowing hugs were on the way. Snitch was quiet as ever, but his eyes seemed to have grown three sizes, and he looked like a puppy. David looked absolutely distraught at the fact that Alicia would be leaving them. He had half a mind to ask if he could go with her.

"De ja vu?" Camille joked with Alicia.

Alicia grinned, bleary eyed, and opened her arms. There was a flood of newsies as they flocked around her. Camille stepped back to give them some privacy; shoving her hands into her pant pockets, she rocked back on her heels and watched the farewells.

Race appeared next to her, thumbs hooked on the pockets of his vest. "We'se all gonna miss 'er," he sighed, and Camille nodded in agreement. The newsboy rested a hand on her shoulder. "But ya sure you'se'll be able ta get along without 'er?" His eyes held genuine concern, and Camille fell into his embrace as she nodded.

"Of course I can," she whispered through tears. "I'se got _you_ ta bother now."

They pulled away form each other, beaming. Camille bobbed her head in the direction of Alicia. "Now go say good-bye."

Race snickered and joined the group surrounding the girl.

"By the way," Alicia yelled over the boys, "I'm not leaving until after that party!"

Camille smirked, typical Alicia.

* * *

"_That's_ why you're throwing this shindig?"

The newsies had left Camille and Alicia to themselves after an hour of emotional send-offs, and Aicia had just been informed of Camille's initial plan for the upcoming bash at the Brooklyn Lodging House.

"Yup," the girl nodded, a smile creeping onto her face.

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "You sure it's gonna work? I mean, this is Spot we're talking about. He may have a soft place in his heart for you, but for others, I'm not so sure…"

"Well it's gotta work," Camille insisted, trying to reassure herself in the process. "If it doesn't, life here is gonna suck even more when you're gone."

Alicia nodded, thinking. "Very true."

"So…you're going to help me, right?" Camille asked, although she was hoping she already knew the answer.

"Of course!" Alicia jumped up, hands on hips. "This very well might be the last plan we set in motion; I'm not missin' out on that."

Camille grinned. "Good."

* * *

**Author's Note:** So I'm pretty sure the next chapter is going to be the very last one, but like I said before, I want to rewrite this story so that it's better. However, it will not happen for quite some time [the rewrite that is]. In the meantime, leave a review! I'm so sorry I haven't updated in forever!!


	7. The End of an Era

**Author's Note:** Okay...so I realize that it's been WAY too many months since this story was updated, and I'm really sorry about that, but better late than never, right? So, this is the last chapter, so there won't be anymore horribly late updates, since the story is over. Thank you to all of your reviews, and sorry once again for the extremely long wait!

**Disclaimer:** I think we all know...

* * *

Brooklyn parties were always the best, but Spot had outdone himself this time. He surveyed the room in mild satisfaction. He was enjoying himself, as much as he'd like to deny that fact. The only problem he had was that Camille was nowhere in sight, and she was the sole purpose this party was being thrown. He grimaced when he saw not only Mush, but Blink as well, fall out of their chairs. The two newsies were clearly not used to the more expensive alcoholic beverages Spot had provided for this particular party.

At the same time that Spot was congratulating himself on a party well done, Camille and Alicia were putting the finishing touches on their plan. They had decided to announce Alicia's parting to Spot _and_ Spark. In doing so, Camille would hopefully be able to form a truce between the feuding newsboys and get Spark back to Brooklyn, instead of having to live in the Bronx.

Camille was waiting impatiently at a table when Alicia came running up to her. She could tell something was wrong when Alicia avoided eye contact. Camille merely had to raise an eyebrow and an explanation poured out of her friend.

"We may have hit a bit of a road bump," Alicia started off, eyes darting this way and that.

Well that was never a good thing. "What do you mean?" Camille asked, needing clarification.

"Well," Alicia stalled, "I'm not so sure Spark is going to want to come back to Brooklyn…"

"Why not? He knows Spot was just being over protective, right?" Camille was beginning to get desperate. She didn't want Spark to be stuck in the Bronx and she didn't want Spot to be angry with him for forever.

Alicia gulped. "Well, apparently within the small amount of time Spark's been in the Bronx, he somehow became their leader."

Camille choked on the cube of ice she had been sucking on. "What?!"

Alicia nodded and pointed towards the door, where the Bronx newsies were entering, lead by Spark. He appeared to be delegating a variety of responsibilities to various newsboys and girls. Camille blinked. It was that easy to take over a borough? Or maybe Spark was just that talented. Duped only by Spot Conlon. She tilted her head in thought. Well, their plan was apparently going to need revision. Spark wouldn't want to return to Brooklyn if he was now a leader.

"Hmm," Camille hummed to herself. She saw Racetrack dart giddily across the room. "Race!" She hoped he could enlighten them a bit, for he always seemed to be in the know.

Racetrack stumbled over, slinging his arm loosely around Alicia's shoulders to keep from falling over. "Enjoyin' yahself? You'se the reason we'se heah afterall," he slurred with a smug grin on his face. Why Racetrack was smug was beyond Camille's comprehension, but she ignored it and continued with her newly formulated plan of action.

"What do you know about Spark's new standings?" she inquired quizzically.

Race laughed. "You'se sound like a newsie leader yahself," he pointed out, making Camille scowl. She didn't necessarily want to be associated with leader types. Racetrack scrunched up his face in thought. "Well, when Spot sent him ovah ta the Bronx, he stumbled upon the fact that they'se don' actually have a leader." Racetrack grinned at this point in his short story. "And so, being Spark, he whipped 'em into shape and, lo and behold, is now their leader." Race beamed with pride. Maybe that's why he had been smug. Because now three of his close friends were now leaders of opposing boroughs.

Camille bit her lip in thought before waltzing past Alicia and Race, and making her way over to Spark. As she was about to stand before him, a small ratty looking newsboy stepped in front of her, his arms crossed, a serious expression upon his face. "Ya got an appointment?" he asked in a surprisingly deep, husky voice.

Camille raised her eyebrows. "No. I don't need one. Now step aside if ya know what's good for ya," she warned in a commanding tone she was unaware she possessed. Race was right, she _was_ acting like a leader.

Ratty Boy scoffed. "Ya don' get an audience with Spark unless he wants an audience with ya."

"Spark," Camille yelled over the noise of the party. She caught his eye and motioned to the shorter, protective newsboy. Spark grinned and sauntered over.

"Uh, Pointer? Ya can go an' enjoy the party now," he allowed. Pointer nodded his head curtly and stiffly walked away. Spark shrugged. "They'se ain't used ta havin' a leader, and, well, I guess they'se just interested in keepin' one for awhile."

Camille grinned at the green-eyed boy. "You're certainly going places," she remarked as to his current leading position.

Spark grinned. "They jus' need a little organization an' they could big the next Brooklyn."

Camille pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Speaking of which," she reached out and grabbed Spark by the hand, not wanting to allow him escape, "Follow me."

She dragged the newsboy behind her, weaving her way through the crowd, searching for Spot. Alicia and Racetrack watched, dumbfounded, from the table. "What is she up ta?" Race drunkenly prodded Alicia for details.

Alicia shook her head. "No idea." They had originally planned for Alicia to deal with Spark, and for Camille to deal with Spot, before bringing the two together for a peace pact. But Camille taking on two fighting leaders was a new feat.

Camille recognized the back of Spot's head and she grabbed his arm to swing him around abruptly. She smiled wide. "Heya Spot."

She could clearly see Spot's agitation in the way he was glaring at Spark. He no doubt had learned of Spark's leadership in the Bronx and was most likely not too pleased. Spot had meant for Spark's trip to be a punishment, not a reward. Camille ignored all of this and instead said, "Can I speak to you two alone, please? Thanks." And with that, she pulled both newsboys up the stairs, barricading them in Spot's private quarters.

"What's this all about?" Spot asked, enraged.

Camille rolled her eyes, releasing them in the room. "You two are going to settle this stupid thing between you right now." Spark sighed in irritation, while Spot glared at his former runner. Camille had crossed her arms. "Go on," she encouraged.

"What do ya want us ta do?" Spark asked sarcastically, "Make up an' hug?"

Camille gave the new leader a deadpan look. "No," she replied sternly. "But you _are_ going to make up. Because I am not going to live in this time period if you two are angry with each other." She turned to face Spot. "Spot, you are the boy I want to be with, but if you're going to be gallivanting around with other girls, you can forget it." She smirked at the awestruck look upon his face. Camille then turned to face Spark. "I guess you're not going to want to come back to Brooklyn, what with a borough of your own now. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to tell you what to do." She grinned as Spark nodded in mock defeat. "Just…get along, okay?" It was all she was asking.

Spot was standing rigid, unsure of whether or not he would be able to abide by the whole 'happy family' scenario Camille was laying out for them. "Fine," he said, wanting to be on Camille's good side once again. He spit in his hand and extended it to Spark.

Spark pursed his lips, mulling over this. His eyes flit from Camille to Spot, until he finally shrugged, spit in his own palm, and clasped Spot's hand.

"Thank God that's over," Camille smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go bid my best friend farewell."

* * *

It had been a year since Alicia had been sent back to 2009, and things had slowly begun to return to normal in the realm of newsboys. Camille's knowledge of her new time period had steadily grown, while her memories of her past life became weaker.

She was walking through the cobblestone streets of the Bronx, basking in the sun. It had been chilly all week, and the warmer weather had put everyone in good spirits. Such good spirits in fact that she was on her way to meet Spot and Spark for lunch.

She entered the diner, spying the two boys at a table over in the corner. She sat down next to Spot, who pecked a kiss on her cheek. Spark grinned. "Who'd a thought Spot Conlon could be such a good boyfriend?" he rhetorically asked.

Spot smirked, and continued to look over the menu, a slight blush tinting his cheeks. After they had all ordered and treated themselves to a relatively lavish lunch for a newsie, they took to the streets, Spark showing them his domain.

They had reached a street corner, the one Spark usually sold at, when a man with a camera approached them. He called himself Lewis Hine, and after a few minutes of he and Camille prodding the boys, they obliged the request.

Spot smirked, staring over at Camille, happy to see her happy, and Spark grinned, proud that it was the Bronx that was being photographed.

* * *

Alicia sat in her history class, utterly bored out of her mind, head resting on the desk, while Gill, studious student she was, took precise notes. "Ugh," Alicia groaned when she glanced at the clock and realized there was still over half an hour of class left.

Gill poked her friend in the ribs with her pencil. "Alicia, we need to answer the questions at the end of the chapter," she informed her previously half-asleep comrade.

"Ugh," Alicia repeated, flopping open her textbook and flipping through the pages. She paused for a second on a page revealing a black and white photo. "Huh," she mused, staring at it. It depicted two newsboys, and one newsgirl, posed between them. The one boy had an amused smirk on his face, while the other two were grinning broadly, obviously wanting to get the most out of their photograph experience.

Gill peered over Alicia's shoulder. She pointed at one of the boys and the girl. "Those two look oddly familiar…"

Alicia raised an eyebrow. "Yeah," she replied with a small smile. She had no idea where the smile had come from, just that she felt some happiness at the sight of the picture. Glancing around the classroom quickly, she ripped the page from the book. She grinned at Gill. "No one's gonna miss a page…"


End file.
